Mnemosyne's Lamp
by Natsumi
Summary: The recovered diary, a botched attempt to destroy it, a last protective spell cast by Tom Riddle. The diary is destroyed, but Tom's memories have found another home: Ginny Weasley. Ginny must then attempt to carry the weight of Tom's memories, and find wi


  
Spoilers: all four books   
Summary: Your past shapes your present; what twisted the charming and brilliant young Riddle into an evil Dark Lord? Ginny Weasley finds out. The recovered diary, an botched attempt to destroy it, a last protective spell cast by Tom Riddle, this chaotic mix has dangerous results. The diary is destroyed, but Tom's memories have found another home: Ginny Weasley. Ginny must then attempt to carry the weight of Tom's memories, and find within them the key to unraveling a new mystery at Hogwarts. 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Author's Note: Whew, what was supposed to be a oneshot fic about Ginny's side of things when the dementor boarded the Hogwarts Express became a very dark fic complete with plot. I would like to thank Rhianna, for beta-reading this for me and the rest of the people on SS Gin 'n Tonic, for the valuable opinions that helped this fic along. 

Prologue Summary: Harry wasn't the only one to remember the touch of darkness when the dementor came aboard the Hogwarts Express… 

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She sat in the darkened car on the Hogwarts Express; around her stood her brother and his friends, and the new professor, but she ignored them in favor of studying the cloaked figure framed by trembling firelight. The dead, skeletal hand retreated into the cloak, and the creature beneath the cloak drew in a breath. 

She opened her mouth to call out Ron's name when a bone-chilling cold swept over her, like a wave of icy water crashing over her slim frame. And into the arctic sea, she sank. A scream clawed its way out of her throat, even as she choked at the coldness that gripped her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth moving ceaselessly, calling out for her parents, for her brothers, for anyone. But no one heard, for no sound came out of her mouth, no vibrations that disturbed the still air, and she thought that the cold had turned her words to ice, slivers of crystal water stabbing into her. She thought she might have thrashed, thought that her hands shot through the dark like she was drowning in murky water. But she was lost, for there was no bottom and no surface to the vast ocean of darkness. The world felt dead around her. 

Her eyes scoured the darkness, desperate for any sensation rather than be left alone with this overwhelming cold and fear. The chill turned to pain, a sharp knife slicing up one leg that had hit the hard floor. She realized that she was sitting on cold flagstone, and that the air around her felt damp. With the pain that shattered the ice that had wrapped her, her senses became alive again, sensitive to the distant sound of water dropping like slowly clearing rain, and a sense of being in a stone room. When a different sound reached her ears, she gave a cry of surprise. She felt something slide up one leg, sinuously winding itself up and around her small body, as though she was a pillar. She drew a ragged breath, as the terrifying caress continued up to her neck, and she heard the faintest hiss before a serpentine tongue traced her earlobe. Fear no longer pricked her skin for it held her heart in a vise, paralyzing her limbs, leaving her like a broken marionette with cut strings slumped on the stone floor. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to scream, as the floor came alive beneath her, a writhing, undulating organism, giving her impressions of rough silk, and prickly velvet that smoothed over her skin. The death shrouds wrapped around her, with no struggle from her, almost like a willing bride to darkness. 

Her hand clenched around a book she had not realized she had been holding. It fell from her grasp, tumbling to the again stone floor with a loud clatter, as though the sound had banished the serpent embrace. 

The book had fallen open, with its pages covered with elegant words that were like grotesquely beautiful scars upon pristine ivory. It rippled, as though the pages were living skin with lifeblood pulsing beneath the thin layer. Mist formed over the book, and an image slowly came into being, a blurred figure reflected on water. A thousand whispers murmured in her ears, promises of trust, of friendship, of a thrilling secret that only they shared, dissonant echoes of the words on the book in front of her. The low hum became louder, thrumming and pounding against her ears, an almost painful pressure that made her vision swim. The world around her faded, like a photograph stained by tears, and the world bled around her. It all melted into a swirl of color, and refracted light, and her eyes sought for anything solid. Her gaze latched onto the image in front of her, slowly coming into sharp focus, the only thing of clarity. Blank eyes met wickedly amused blue, the color of the ocean depths, holding secrets and shadows. The indistinct noise had ceased, when his lips parted to whisper to her. 

"Close your eyes, Ginny." 

And she could do nothing but obey, falling into scarlet pools and broken feathers. She had heard that voice only once before, but it had haunted the shadows of her mind like a half-forgotten whisper. His name escaped on a stolen breath. 

"Tom." 

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End file.
